


Bernie's Polaroids

by ultragirlvfr750



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, I have this headcanon that Bernie watches Serena sleep, I honestly have no idea what this is, but she's learning to embrace in Serena's arms, but the words are starting to come, from Bernie's perspective, mostly she just thinks about them, she has a lot of feelings, that she herself finds sleep difficult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:10:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9121000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultragirlvfr750/pseuds/ultragirlvfr750
Summary: For the commanderliaras for the 2016 Berena Gift Exchange.  Her request was domesticity/hurt/comfort and I hope I did this justice.  Not quite sure what these are other than snapshots, polaroids if you will, of some of Bernie's experiences, thoughts and feeling about and with Serena between Christmas and December 27th. Sound vague? It is. But I hope there is some beauty in it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starkate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starkate/gifts).



1 - Flash

Bernie watches Serena as she sleeps. 

It is taking on the properties of a habit, becoming a ritual Bernie performs before she will allow herself to follow Serena into the darkness. She will admit to herself that when she wakes in the night, her heart pounding, the steady sound of Serena’s quiet snoring calms her more than any breathing exercise she’d ever learned to beat back the chaos of anxiety. Waking on the heels of terror has been a part of Bernie’s life for so long she can barely remember a time when she slept through until morning. Now instead of white knuckling it until day break, she will often gather Serena into her arms, carefully, so as not to wake her, her breasts pressed against Serena’s back, lulled by the feel of the rise and fall, until her breathing slows and their hearts beat together. 

She worries she could get used to this.

2 - Memory in Black and White

Recovering from Christmas, they’re both exhausted. The strain of Elinor’s disapproving stares and caustic remarks showing in the lines around Serena’s mouth, the way her jaw is clenched even as she dreams. Bernie feels her own jaw tense in shared sympathy and, without looking, she knows they are mirror images of one another. 

It had been a gamble, asking Cam and Charlotte for dinner on Christmas Day, one that Bernie was mostly sure had paid off. But it was a lot to take in all at once, easier for Cam because they’d already picked up the threads of their relationship, already started to heal. Harder for Charlotte who had never met Jason, with his blunt speech and particular ways, had never met Serena, the woman who was for all intents and purposes replacing her father. And Elinor, who is the antithesis of everything Charlotte is, but just as fiery and just as stubborn. To say they’d clashed would be an understatement.

In the latter half of the evening Elinor had spent a conspicuous amount of time in Serena’s upstairs bathroom. Back at the table, her suddenly too-bright eyes and the way she sniffed had been obvious to everyone except Jason and perhaps Serena. Bernie could feel Charlotte’s eyes boring into her and she’d had to work at composing her face into an unreadable mask. Her daughter hadn’t been born yesterday, and neither had Bernie. They both knew what it meant and Bernie had felt Charlotte internally judging her, and the woman she’d chosen to love, based solely on the sins of her daughter. 

It hadn’t been a disaster but neither had it been a roaring success. At half eleven Elinor had claimed a headache and wandered off to her room. Cam and Charlotte had stayed awhile longer, Charlotte making a half-hearted attempt to get to know Serena while Cam and Jason played some kind of shoot ‘em up game on Jason’s playstation with amped up war sounds and visual effects that hit far to close to home for Bernie to sit and watch. After they’d gone, (Cam hugging her tightly, Charlotte more restrained, she’d actually kissed Bernie’s cheek), and Jason had finished his nightly glass of milk and trooped off to his own room, Bernie had breathed a sigh of relief. She had wanted nothing more than to take Serena to bed, gently undress her and make slow, sleepy love to her but by the time they’d tidied up in Serena’s kitchen Bernie could see the slump in Serena’s shoulders, the exhaustion in her eyes and instead she’d drawn Serena a bath and afterward had simply held her close, burying her face in the damp hair at the nape of Serena’s neck.

3 - Intimate Moments in Colour

Days later, and a shift of watching Elinor swan about with her camera, they have returned to their private home that is Serena’s bed and Bernie watches Serena as she sleeps.

Serena is lush. 

There is no other word to describe her, at least not one, Bernie determines, that can accurately do justice to the way she feels.

Serena is splayed, on her stomach, arms loosed above her head, snuffling, snoring slightly her mouth pressed against the sheets. Bernie marvels at how easy it is for Serena to drop into slumber. One moment her eyes are soft, heavy the next her lids droop closed and her breathing shifts. Bernie can no longer count the number of nights she’s held Serena as she has fallen asleep, her breath heavy against the hollow of her throat, Serena’s fingers twitching mindlessly across her back. 

And yet it’s still new enough that each time is a wonder. Each time a lump forms in Bernie’s throat and she bites back tears. She questions if it will ever cease being a wonder, Serena sinking boneless and heavy against her body as she falls asleep. There are nights Bernie believes that she herself doesn’t need sleep at all as long as she can hold this incredible, slumbering creature in her arms. 

It’s against the backdrop of irony in this thought that Bernie often finally allows herself to rest. She’s not used to sharing a bed with someone, not for sleeping in any case and she still finds the vulnerability of losing consciousness while wrapped in someone else a bit unnerving. It’s one part luxury, two parts unease but Bernie is hopeful that given enough time with Serena that the tide will turn, that the luxurious feeling of Serena’s legs entangled with hers, her breasts pressed against Bernie’s back as she drifts down the dark will, one day, be as natural as breath. 

For now, she holds on, awake, impaled on a deep ache she is still yet to name. Some nights she uses the time in the dark, lulled by the sound and the pull of Serena’s breath, to approach the pain, sorting it through, naming it and watching it loosen its’ hold. 

Other nights, like tonight, she is helpless to stop herself from leaning across Serena’s shoulder, her breasts barely sliding up Serena’s back, her nipples instantly tightening at the touch. She shivers. Her mouth falls instinctively in the curve where Serena’s shoulder meets the column of her neck. Bernie hovers, her mouth barely brushing Serena’s skin. She moves her head, gently back and forth, parting her lips, drinking in Serena’s scent in small sips. Her nostrils flare and she dips her head lower to nuzzle the sensitive spot behind Serena’s ear, the spot that never fails to make Serena gasp and arch her back when she is awake. In those waking moments Bernie only has fleeting seconds to nuzzle or plant kisses, but when Serena is sleeping Bernie can take her time, trace this hidden, secret part of the woman she adores with her nose, or the tip of her index finger, revelling in the softness, the creamy skin, lightly dusted with freckles. She can whisper, all the unsaid things that she longs for Serena to hear, but will not yet allow themselves to be voiced when Serena is a awake. 

“Mmm, that tickles,” Serena’s voice, thick with sleep, drifts between them and Bernie pulls back sharply.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I didn’t mean to wake you I was just….” her voice trails off, unsure of how to describe just what she was doing. Worshipping Serena’s body is about as close as she can come to an explanation and she’s not quite sure she’s ready to admit that. At least not yet.

Serena shifts onto her back, her hands winding up in to Bernie’s hair, pulling at the back of her head until their lips meet in the dark. Serena opens her mouth, flicking her tongue lightly across Bernie’s upper lip, a gesture now familiar to Bernie and yet it never ceases to make her shudder. Serena’s hand falls lazily to Bernie’s shoulder and she traces her fingernails over the hard ridge of Bernie’s collarbone and then lower until her fingertips graze across Bernie’s right breast. Finding the nipple taut she rolls it between her thumb and forefinger, tugging slightly. Bernie moans against Serena’s mouth and then pulls away gently.

“It’s late, Fräulein,” she says, “We have to be up in,” she pushes up on her elbow and squints over Serena’s shoulder at the clock on the nightstand, “four hours. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I’m not,” Serena replies tartly, the last vestiges of sleep leaving her voice, “being kissed awake by a beautiful blonde is infinitely preferable to being kicked in the shins repeatedly or frantically poked in the shoulder by a little girl with the news that she thinks she ‘might be sick’.”

“Was she?” Bernie asks wryly, pulling Serena into the crook of her arm so that Serena’s head is resting on her breasts. 

 “Oh absolutely,” Serena shudders, “almost immediately in fact. Timing was never Elinor’s strong suit. Monumentally sick. All over the duvet if I recall.”

Bernie’s chuckle becomes a shiver as she feels Serena’s fingers teasing the hair at the top of her sex before sliding upwards, her thumb drawing absentminded circles over the swell of Bernie’s belly.

“Cam too,” Bernie smiles, “Charlotte was a trouper. Had a bit of a phobia about it. She’d just clutch at her belly and moan. Cam, on the other hand, that boy could vomit for days. Strange how Marcus, father-of-the-year that he was, never seemed to wake up for those special episodes.”

“Men and sick?” Serena’s voice if full of disdain, “Unless they’re being paid to deal with it, my observation has been that they’re utterly hopeless. Edward wouldn’t know what to do with a vomit bowl even if he tripped over one. At least he had the good grace to use the lav on the countless mornings after he’d been off his head.”

Bernie can feel Serena tense and she reaches up and kneads her fingers into Serena’s shoulder, kissing the top of her head.

“Small mercies,” she murmurs, “Although I’m not sure I’d forgive being repeatedly kicked awake.”

“Well that’s Liberty’s problem now,” Serena raises her head and now that her eyes have become accustomed to the dark Bernie can see she’s quite serious. “She can hold his head if she wants to. And I’ve got you.”

“For as long as you want me,” the words are out of Bernie’s mouth before she realizes she’s said them.

There is a long pause and then Serena shifts her weight, nudging at Bernie’s chin as she rolls up and effortlessly straddles her. 

Serena’s eyes are unreadable but what she’s doing with her hips brooks no ambiguity. She presses down against Bernie’s pelvis, circles against it and Bernie can feel how wet she is. An answering damp floods between her thighs as she thrusts upwards into Serena’s heat. Serena leans forward and plants a row of wet kisses along Bernie’s collarbone, sucking briefly at the pulse point on her neck before her lips trail delicately upward to Bernie’s ear.

“Is that a promise, Berenice?” Serena’s voice is wicked, rich with desire and Bernie heaves herself upward, pressing their breasts together, her hands gripping the lush curves of Serena’s bottom. She feels her throat constrict and pushes past it.

 “You have my word,” Bernie’s answer sounds cracked, strangled to her own ears but bites at Serena’s lower lip before claiming her mouth, infusing the kiss with everything she’s growing the courage to say.

Time falls away as they move languidly against one another. They are still discovering the rhythm of their lovemaking but they’ve been here enough that Bernie can feel when Serena is close, how she tosses her head, a growl beginning low in the back of her throat. Bernie feels her own desire coiling deep in her belly as she digs her fingers harder against Serena’s bottom, sliding her faster, slick against her thigh. She feels Serena clench and release even as her hand flies to her mouth and she bites down hard on her knuckles to keep from crying out. Bernie’s back arches and she flails for Serena’s other hand, bringing Serena’s palm flat against her mouth to stifle her own cries. They hover, suspended as they both unravel, until Serena pitches forward softly, her legs wrapped in Bernie’s, her mouth in the hollow of Bernie’s neck, coming to rest, panting, draped along the length of Bernie’s body.

“That was infinitely more pleasurable than being kicked awake,” Serena purrs, “if only somewhat hampered by trying not to rouse the entire house.”

“Mmm,” Bernie hums, “you showed admirable restraint.”

“Would serve her right,” Serena retorts as she cuddles into Bernie’s side, “really you’d think she’d have at least one gay friend at university. She’s in the bloody Arts for God’s sake. I’m sick to death of people thinking that just because I’m over fifty I’m dead from the waist down.”

 “Oh I think you’ve made that quite clear,” Bernie laughs, “Trust me.”

“Why, what have you heard?” Serena digs her fingers into Bernie’s shoulder.

“No one’s making up childish nursery songs if that’s what you’re worried about,” Bernie soothes.

“So you did hear?” Serena sighs, “I was hoping to keep that rather unfortunate, childish business to myself.”

Bernie pulls away and props herself up on one elbow so she can look at Serena.

“I did wonder about that,” she says quietly, “When you didn’t tell me, you know, even afterward.”

“You mean after finally being released from our office where a certain accommodating nephew locked us in,” Serena asks drily, “coming back here and basically not leaving the house, actually if I’m to be accurate, this room, for the next twenty-four hours?”

“Well when you put it that way,” Bernie’s voice trails off, “But yes. I suppose.”

“You don’t have to tip-toe around me,” Bernie reaches out and smooths the furrows on Serena’s brow, “ Around us. I know I haven’t given you much evidence to the contrary, but I’m not going to bolt at the first sign of difficulty,” she smiles, “Or poorly constructed verse.”

“It’s just that,” Serena ducks her head, “this is new for you. It’s certainly come of out left field for me,” Serena runs her fingertip between the hollow of Bernie’s breasts before cupping one gently, thumbing the nipple, “gloriously, wondrously so, in case you were worried.”

“I wasn’t as it happens,” Bernie chuckles, placing her hand over Serena’s, “You’ve made that intimately clear,” she raises her eyebrow, “in at least seven different positions.”

“Berenice Wolfe,” Serena hisses, the colour in her cheeks rising, and swats Bernie’s shoulder with her free hand.

“In any case,” Bernie continues as if Serena hasn’t spoken, “It’s been made abundantly clear to the porters that any more asinine nursery rhymes will be met with a swift reprimand, on file, or a boot up the arse. Depending on whether I get wind of it first.”

“Defending my honour are we?” 

“Well what’s the point of dating an ex-army major,” Bernie smiles, “if you can’t enjoy the perks of her forthright tactics and blunt personality? In any case, that aside, you can’t really fault Elinor can you?”

“Elinor?”

“Of course she probably has heaps of gay people filing in and out of her life at school,” Bernie explains, “but going down the uni bar with some hip gay couple from her ‘Documentary 101 class’ is a far cry from coming home for Christmas to meet your heretofore died-in-the-wool heterosexual mother’s lesbian lover.”

Serena snorts.

 “Seriously Serena,” Bernie says earnestly, “I can see how that might be a bit disconcerting. No one likes their world to change, least of all our newly adult children.” 

“I suppose,” Serena concedes.

“Life is scary enough,” Bernie sighs, “In the face of everything changing they just want something they remember to stay the same.”

They are quiet for a moment and Bernie loves that the silence between them is easy.

“I’m worried about Elinor,” Bernie says, finally.

Another beat of silence and Bernie holds her breath.

“You think?” Serena says caustically and then sighs. She lays rigid in the bed, pressing her thumb and forefinger into the corners of her eyes. “She was high on Christmas Day,” she clenches her jaw, biting off each word.

Bernie’s heart aches and she draws Serena in to a loose embrace.

“Yes,” Bernie doesn’t sugarcoat it, “She was. I was wondering if you’d noticed.”

  “I may be a romantic but I’m not stupid,” Serena spits the words out, “or blind. God, why?” he voice cracks and she presses her palms over her eyes, “My stupid, stupid, beautiful girl. How do I help you?” she says to the ceiling her hands still hiding her eyes, but not the tears leaking from under her palms

Serena sobs and Bernie holds her closer.  
   
“I’m sorry, Serena,” she says simply. “Is there anything I can do?”

Serena shifts and looks up at Bernie. Even in the dark Bernie can see the helplessness, the fear in her eyes, feels the anguish in the tension of her muscles. She leans over and kisses Serena’s tears. 

“Just be here,” Serena’s voice is raw.

“Every step of the way.”

Bernie pulls Serena close once more, smoothing her hair even as she kisses the side of her face.

“Sleep now,” she murmurs, “it’s late. In the morning we’ll get up and tackle it together.”

As an answer, Serena wraps her arms around Bernie and pulls her closer. They settle into one another’s arms their breathing slowly finding a rhythm. Bernie closes her eyes, waiting for sleep to follow the warmth of their embrace.

“Thank you,” the words come on a breath so quiet that Bernie might have missed them.

“For what?” Bernie murmurs into the dark.

“For coming home.”

Serena is well and truly asleep and Bernie knows she is not far behind but she lifts her hand, slowly, gently, so as not to re-awaken the woman in her arms and swipes softly at the tears on her cheeks.  
   
She reminds herself she doesn’t need to cry. Not now. Not when the exile is past and all she has wept for is now dreaming in her arms. 

She reminds herself that it’s true. 

She’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> I am posting this as complete but it's possible there may want to be a New Year's Eve chapter. Also - I wanted to explore, however briefly, the idea that a blended Christmas between Bernie and Serena's clans was probably not the roaring success we all would have wanted it to be. And I really wanted the chance to explore, again however briefly - and there may be more if there is a NY Eve Chapter, Berne's reaction to Elinor using coke. Because Bernie Wolfe is NOT an idiot, and neither is Serena. If Elinor was using I firmly believe that Bernie would have noticed.


End file.
